


Five Reasons Why Not

by Morgan_Elektra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxious Harry, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco, Boys Kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Frottage, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Top Harry, Wedding Day, mentions of Harry/Ginny and Ginny/Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Elektra/pseuds/Morgan_Elektra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harry's wedding day. Draco thinks he's making a big mistake. Can he convince him to call it off?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Reasons Why Not

⌘

  
  
  


Harry choked, the cloth around his throat tightening, pressing against his larynx. He struggled to pull in a breath of warm, sweat-and-old-ink scented air. Blood pounded in his temples and burned in his cheeks.

 

“Too tight!”

 

Ron frowned at his strangled gasp and threw up his hands, abandoning the Gryffindor red satin jacquard bowtie he’d been attempting to knot at Harry’s throat.

 

“Well, if you’d just  _ relax _ , mate, this would be a lot easier!”

 

“Easier for you to throttle me to death?”

 

He pulled the bowtie free from his collar, smoothing the rumpled fabric between trembling fingers and avoiding his best friend’s open-mouthed stare.

 

“You’re...er… sure you’re really okay with this? Ginny and me? Getting… getting  _ married _ .”

 

Harry’s stomach did a quick roll as he spoke. He kept expecting it to get easier to say, but no matter how often he used it in the six months since he’d proposed, the word still got stuck in his throat.

 

Ron snorted. A quick glance revealed him shaking his head as he studied his own reflection in the full length mirror in the corner. A deep furrow appeared between his ruddy brows as his hands made vague motions in front of his chest.

 

“Dunno why we can’t use magic to…” He drifted off, shrugged, and turned back to Harry. “And don’t be daft. Of course I’m okay with it.”

 

The sound of Molly bustling around the kitchen drifted up the stairs to the room at the top of the Burrow, her commanding voice rolling through the house with clipped directions to “put that there, no,  _ there _ ” and “bring that up to Luna so she can see the bridesmaids all have them.”

 

Harry didn’t even think she was using a Sonorous.

 

He tugged at the stiff collar of his fancy white shirt, feeling slightly strangled still despite the absence of Ron’s bowtie ligature. Apart from the long, dark slate grey formal robes — and the blasted bowtie, of course — he was dressed and ready for a ceremony that wouldn’t start for at least another two hours yet.

 

_ Maybe you should have waited. _

 

These days, Harry didn’t worry that the hissing little voice in his head was anyone’s other than his own. He almost wished he could.

 

He dismissed the snide whisper with a swiftness born of experience and leaned his bum against the low wooden top of Percy Weasley’s childhood desk. Ron had been miffed at first that Harry wasn’t getting ready in his room (“S’more fitting, isn’t it? Since it’s me first brought him home to meet Ginny, and all.”) but had bowed to Hermione’s assertion that Percy’s old room was the better choice.

 

It was the only bedroom in the Burrow with a full length mirror, after all. Besides the master, of course. But that’s where Ginny was.

 

His stomach flipped again. He traced his fingers over the faint indentations in the top of the desk, imagining a young Percy putting quill to parchment, letters precise and perfect. The desk was the only stick of furniture in the entire room that bore any hint of its former occupant. His cupboard under the stairs had been more personal.

 

Harry rubbed his thumb over the ghost of a flourished capital D and watched Ron preen, both his lips and his gut tugging sideways.

 

“You had reservations. About us getting back together. I know you did.”

 

Ron was back to studying himself in the mirror, smoothing his hands down the front of his robes — plain black instead of Harry’s “more distinguished” (Ginny’s words) grey — and straightening his own neatly tied bowtie.

 

He met Harry’s eyes in the mirror and gave him a half grin and a shrug.

 

“I did, a bit. But that’s nothing against you, Harry. Or my sister. It was just…” 

 

Freckles disappeared behind a red flush. Harry picked a bit of lint off the leg of his trousers. He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

 

“What?”

 

Ron sighed and shrugged again. He made a move to sit on Percy’s bed but paused halfway down and stood again, giving the narrow mattress a suspicious glance. A small, hiccoughed laugh sprang from Harry’s lips at the twisted look of disgust on Ron’s face.

 

His best mate and soon-to-be brother-in-law gave him a sheepish grin.

 

“Nothing bad. I thought you seemed happy to be just friends, that’s all. But if you’re both sure about this, then I have absolutely no problem with it. Be chuffed to have you in the family all official-like.”

 

That brought a smile to Harry’s face.

 

Technically, Ginny would be taking his last name, but everyone knew it was he who’d be joining a family today. Some of the guys at work had even joked about him “becoming a Weasley”. 

 

Auror Hawes especially got a kick out of yelling, “Oi,  _ Weasley _ !” across the crowded office and then replying with a snickered, “Not you, t’other one” when Ron answered.

 

Robards had quipped about giving them code names, since Auror partners with the same last name might cause confusion during a raid. Even Kingsley had commented, “Between Arthur, Percy, Ronald, and now you, Harry, pretty soon the Weasleys will be running the entire Ministry!”

 

Those type of jokes had been almost as prevalent as the near-constant “You sure about this, Harry? All those women out there happy to spend a little time with the Saviour of the Wizarding World and you’re just going to pick  _ one _ ?”

 

As if his life for the last decade had been a parade of eager bedmates.

 

There had been a few others, after Ginny, who he’d dated casually. And a couple of one-night stands. But no one special. No one who even really stuck out in his mind. It was one of the reasons he’d been so sure proposing was a good idea.

 

Aside from Ginny, he’d never really  _ felt _ anything for anyone he’d been involved with. Not emotionally. Barely even physically. Despite what the other Aurors dubbed his “fan club”, his sex life after he and Ginny had split had been mostly dull.

 

Except for that one time.

 

The memories of Paris — of a deep voice murmuring filthy things in French and big, strong hands on his skin — still came to him in the dark of night when he was lonely and aroused.

 

A splinter stabbed into Harry’s palm, drawing a pained hiss from him. He glanced down to see his hands clutching the edge of the desk until his knuckles were white.

 

When he lifted his left hand, a tiny bead of blood welled near the base of his ring finger. In just a few hours, Ginny would slide one of the gold bands they’d picked out onto that finger.

 

The warmth and calm he’d gained by thinking about joining the Weasley family evaporated in an instant. His chest felt as if he were being pummeled by the Whomping Willow, each breath a struggle for his ribs to expand.

 

Ron must have noticed the wheeze in his breathing. Or perhaps his face gave something away. Harry didn’t know, because black dots swam before his eyes.

 

“Harry? You all right?”

 

He nodded, sweat gathering on his brow. His hair flopped onto his forehead. He shoved it back with a shaking hand and sought out his friend’s face. The spots had gotten bigger, his lungs tighter, but Harry forced out a few words.

 

“Yeah. Just nerves. Think you could get me a glass of water?”

 

Ron’s eyes were wide, but he clapped a hearty hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Sure thing. Be right back.”

 

His polished black shoes clattered as he jogged down the stairs. From below, Harry could hear several voices joining with Molly’s, greeting her, laughing. Guests had begun to arrive.

 

The prim, tidy room swam before his eyes as he stumbled to close the door.

 

Harry’s heart pounded, sending blood rushing through his veins so loudly it filled his ears. His stomach rolled and tumbled, the tea and toast Molly had practically force fed him earlier sitting heavy in his gut.

 

He sagged against the door, beads of sweat trickling down his face to soak into the scratchy shirt collar. The smooth, cool wood of his wand slid into his hand. He grasped it tightly, his palm damp as he pointed it at the brass lock plate and gasped out, “ _ Noningredor _ !”

 

Yellow light flashed through his slitted lids and Harry felt the sizzle of the magic in the air as a faint, sharp snap sounded through the room.

 

He slid to the floor, chest heaving, and pressed the back of his head hard against the door, trying to calm the panicked thump-thump-thump-thump-thump of his heart. He worried briefly about dirtying his perfectly tailored slacks before he remembered that the floor he sat on had once been trod by Percy the Prefect.

 

It was probably the cleanest floor in the entire house.

 

The laugh came out as more of a moan. Harry rubbed his stinging eyes and gasped for breath.

 

“Get hold of yourself, Potter,” he murmured in disgust. “You’re being ridiculous.”

 

For some reason, the words comforted him a bit. He took a deeper breath and forced his eyes open. He wished he hadn’t when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Beneath the messy black fringe of his hair, his face was paper white except for two bright red spots high on his cheeks.

 

Without his glasses, his eyes looked too wide and glassy.

 

“You faced down the Dark Lord at eleven with less of a fuss than this,” he told the clearly terrified man in the mirror, remembering another time and another mirror. This time, his reflection didn’t wink, or reach into his pocket. It just stared back at him, pale and gasping and sweaty.

 

He rolled his head, searching for something else to look at besides his own depressing reflection. Anything. 

 

But Percy apparently hadn’t been one for posters or paintings. Or decoration of any kind. Unlike Ron’s violently orange Chudley Cannons decor, Percy’s tastes ran much more bland. There were a few books on a slim bookshelf to his right, but that was all.

 

Harry’s own rumpled clothes, strewn on the bed and chair, were the only other signs it had ever been occupied by anyone. His bowtie dangled from the side of the desk like a runnel of blood. Another wave of nausea rolled through him. His legs twitched, as if to leap up and run from the room.

 

Harry forced his gaze back to the mirror.

 

“It’s just a wedding. To  **_Ginny_ ** .”

 

_ Though I could see how that might make you want to flee. _

 

That cool, mockingly derisive tone was not his, but Harry recognized it nevertheless. He almost chuckled, thinking about the look on Malfoy’s face when Arthur had told him about the engagement at the Ministry Christmas party.

 

He pursed his lips and lifted both thin, blond eyebrows.

 

“Felicitations on your impending nuptials. I’m sure the world entire will rejoice for you and Ginevra.”

 

“You look very much like your father right now,” Harry replied with narrowed eyes, enjoying the flare of the other man’s nostrils as his dig found its mark.

 

They were far from their Hogwarts days. Draco worked surprisingly well with Arthur in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. He came to supper when Molly and Arthur invited him and conversed quite pleasantly with all the Weasleys (including Ron).

 

At one Easter dinner, Harry had even seen Draco debating curse reversal with Bill and chatting in French with Fleur while dangling a velvet ribbon for little Victoire to grab at as if she were a kitten.

 

But he was still  _ Malfoy _ .

 

Harry still couldn’t resist an opportunity to antagonize his former rival, no matter how reconciled they all were.

 

He blew out a long breath, surprised to find that thinking about annoying Malfoy had eased some of the rib-crushing panic. He banged his head against solid wood of the door as he laughed.

 

If contemplating his contentious relationship with Draco Malfoy was less stressful than thinking about what was going on downstairs, maybe that little voice in his head was right. About all the things it had been whispering since he’d made the impetuous decision to ask Ginny to marry him.

 

“No,” Harry murmured.

  
“Harry?”

 

Ron’s bewildered tone filtered through the heavy door, making Harry wince. He hadn’t heard his friend returning. The doorknob rattled.

 

“Got your water. Open up.”

 

The reverberations of Ron’s knuckles wrapping on the wood vibrated down Harry’s spine. His throat closed again at the sound of the hesitance in that knock. He shook his head. It was as if Ron knew….

 

“No.”

 

Harry said it louder this time, not sure if he was trying to silence Ron or his own head. It didn’t work in either case. That little voice in his head was blathering things Harry refused to hear, and Ron’s next words, low whisper that they were, drifted through the keyhole to him anyway.

 

“Look, Harry. It’s perfectly normal, this bit. Remember when ‘Mione and I got hitched up? George gave me that box of Calming Caramels? I ate the whole lot and sicked up on your shoes. That’s all this is.”

 

Ron’s fingers tapped the wood slowly. It sounded as if he was leaning against the door.

 

“Right?”

 

He wanted to say, “Right” and open the door and let Ron in and laugh about how at least he hadn’t tossed his cookies, but he couldn’t. His muscles felt like they were made of water.

 

The silence stretched out between them, filling the air with crackling tension.

 

Percy’s room had been mostly shut up, and the air was stuffy, despite the cool day outside. The dust and old books smell should have been comforting, and it did remind him a bit of days spent in the library at Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione, but it was too warm.

 

He thought about opening the window, but it looked down out over the back garden far below, where Molly and all her minions were busy doing last minute set-up. He’d been hoping for something more low-key, like Ron and Hermione’s small wedding, but Molly insisted on going all out, since Ginny was her only daughter.

 

Harry’s heart fluttered so fast it hardly seemed to pause between beats.

 

What was  _ wrong _ with him? He was about to marry the only girl he’d ever loved and officially become a part of the only real family he’d ever known. He should be dancing a jig, not sitting on the floor hyperventilating and sweating through his shirt.

 

He tried to shake out his hands but they stayed clenched in fists. When he caught sight of his formal robes hanging against the wardrobe, the black dots returned.

 

Out in the hall, he heard Ron sigh.

 

He heaved breaths, fingernails digging into the floor, trying to get a word out. Any word. Anything to tell his friend that he was okay, that everything was going to be fine. He’d get over whatever panic attack he was experiencing and he and Ginny would get married under the arch Molly had decorated with juniper and white lilies.

 

Harry tried to picture Ginny as she’d be, sweeping across the grass to him in some long, silky dress (he’d not been allowed to see what she’d picked, so he was guessing), her red hair all done up in curls. 

 

But the image flickered, quickly replaced by the way her face had looked when she’d first come back from the Harpies’ Bulgarian tour eight months ago, too thin with dark circles under her eyes and her smile hanging sideways.

 

She’d never said exactly what happened, but she did say she was tired of the road, all that travel, never staying in one place for more than a couple weeks.

 

The wan, drawn look had faded a bit each time he saw her over those two months, until her smile was once again reaching her eyes. Almost. And they’d gone wide when he proposed. He’d really thought…

 

Warm blackness rolled over him, and Harry slumped against the bedroom door.

  
  


***

 

“What did you say to him, Ronald Weasley, that’s what I want to know!”

 

The hissed words penetrated the fog around Harry’s brain. He straightened a little, blinking his surroundings into focus. He was still in Percy’s room at the top of the Burrow, still sitting on the floor in his fine grey slacks, polished black Oxfords, and starched white shirt.

 

It was still his wedding day.

 

He didn’t know how long he’d been out — had he actually fainted? — but he didn’t think it was very long. There didn’t seem to be a big commotion. No one was attempting to break down the door. Yet.

 

But those precise, passionate words practically cutting through the wood meant Hermione had been alerted.

 

Some of the earlier panic had dissipated while he was unconscious, making it easier to breathe, but his stomach still twisted at the sound of his two best friends arguing out in the hall.

 

“Why do you think I said anything? I told you I’m fine with him and Gin. I told  _ him _ that, too!”

 

“Then why has he locked himself in the bedroom with a spell  _ I  _ don’t recognize?”

 

Harry’s lips trembled at the indignation in Hermione’s tone, and he felt a distant spurt of pleasure at the idea that he knew a spell she didn’t. That hadn’t happened ever, as far as he could remember.

 

Ron would have recognized the spell if he’d been around when Harry cast it. Maybe. It was one they’d come up against during a trafficking case they’d worked the previous year. Very rare and impossible to undo without the correct intent and the right counter-spell, it was actually brilliant… when it wasn’t being used to imprison goblin and house elf children that had been stolen from their families, of course.

 

The couple outside continued to argue under their breath for several minutes before Ron huffed a disgruntled, “Fine! You talk to him then!”

 

After one more heated whisper, Hermione’s soft voice floated through the keyhole to him.

 

“Harry, would you open the door, please?”

 

He swallowed.

 

“I can’t.”

 

The words grated against his throat like sandpaper. He wished he had that glass of water just then. Not badly enough to open the door, though.

 

There was a weighty pause before she responded.

 

“‘Can’t’ as in you are unable to undo the spell on the door, or ‘can’t’ as in…”

 

When she trailed off, Harry could almost picture her biting her lip. He’d seen her earlier, her hair smoothed back tightly from her face and then done in a bun that was all elaborate twists. She wore the strapless, floor length dress that Ginny had chosen for all her bridesmaids, tan and fairly glowing from her and Ron’s recent vacation to Australia, the slight swell of her five month pregnancy very visible beneath the pale gold silk.

 

Harry actually did remember Ron and Hermione’s wedding day. Very vividly.

 

Ron  _ had _ been nervous, mostly because he seemed certain Hermione was going to call the whole thing off right up until the minute she said, “I do.” Not that she had given any indication of wanting to do so. In fact, Molly had griped about having to pick a “thoroughly unsuitable” song for her to walk down the aisle to, since Hermione had a tendency to stride toward Ron as if he were made out of homework and extra credit points.

 

And he hadn’t eaten the whole box of caramels to calm himself. He’d eaten them because they were  _ caramels _ and he was Ron Weasley.

 

Still, he had sicked up on Harry’s shoes. That bit was true.

 

Harry didn’t feel nervous. He felt  _ terrified _ . And he didn’t know why.

 

“I just —” Harry clenched his fist, felt the blood throbbing in his fingertips. “I just need… some time.”

 

The words came out wheezy. Stilted. He wasn’t even sure Hermione heard him until she humphed. There was a faint clap-rasp sound that Harry realized was her slapping her palms together and then rubbing them back and forth. Or attempting to while holding her little beaded purse.

 

“Right then. Time I can do. Ron’s going to stay out here with your glass of water. He  _ won’t talk _ .”

 

This last was clearly directed at Ron, judging by his friend’s disgruntled, “Hey!”

 

“Not unless you want to talk to him. You’ve got half an hour until Molly expects you down to greet guests. I’ll see if I can stretch that to an hour. I think I’m suddenly feeling a bit faint. From all the running about.”

 

Harry chuckled then, wishing he could reach through the door and hug her. His eyes felt hot and stung with tears.

 

There was another whispered exchange between Hermione and her husband, the sound of a brief kiss, and then her heels clackety-clacked down the stairs.

 

When silence had once more settled in the narrow hallway, Harry managed a deep, long breath.

 

Ron shifted, but didn’t speak. 

 

Knowing he was out there — just standing there, ready to talk or be quiet if that’s what Harry needed — and that Hermione was downstairs pretending light-headedness to distract anyone who might ask questions about what was keeping him, filled Harry with a bubble of warmth and happiness that battled the sinking feeling in his gut.

 

He pushed to his feet, his bum aching and his legs stiff. He brushed absently at the seat and legs of his slacks, though there was no dust or grime on them.

 

Just as he’d thought, Percy’s floor was spotlessly clean.

 

His shirt, however, was nearly sweated through. Harry grimaced and plucked at the damp fabric, fluttering it a bit to dry it. He supposed he could just spell it fresh. Though perhaps he ought to wait. The panic had ebbed, but it wasn’t gone. If he was going to continue sweating… 

 

Maybe Molly knew a charm to keep him from swimming once he’d gotten his robes on?

 

Again, he tried to think of him and Ginny beneath that arch (it was quite beautiful) saying their vows. Again, he couldn’t quite conjure it. Instead, his mind insisted on playing back the tightness around the corners of her eyes as the wedding got closer.

 

“Planning a wedding is incredibly stressful, Harry,” Hermione had informed him, her tone clipped. And he knew Molly was hounding Gin with a million and one questions and decisions every day. 

 

He offered to help all the time — he didn’t mind picking out flowers or tasting cakes or going over seating charts in the least — but Molly always waved him off. Ginny hugged her sharp elbows into her sides and gave him a thin smile.

 

“It’s fine, Harry. Mum and I’ve got it all under control.”

 

Harry had to take her word for it. They’d barely seen each other at all over the last three months but for a few hasty dinners of take away at his flat. He forced himself not to owl her more than once a day to check in, worried his anxiety was just stressing her out more.

 

It had all seemed so distant and faraway to him, perhaps because he hadn’t been all that involved in the planning.

 

At least, until he’d woken up this morning and realized the day was here.

 

Now here he was, standing in the middle of the bedroom at the top of the Burrow, sweating through his finery, with Ron pacing outside in the hall. He could hear his friend’s feet moving, five paces to the left and then five paces back, putting him smack in front of the door again.

 

Harry was a little surprised, honestly, that Ron had managed to stay silent so long.

 

As if his thought had spurred his friend on, he heard Ron draw in a deep breath. But before he could utter a word, they both heard the sound of steps ascending the the stairs.

 

They were light, like Hermione’s, but the shoes sounded flat-soled, like Ron’s.

 

“What are you doing up here?”

 

The surprise in Ron’s voice made Harry tense, his slowed heart jumping against his throat. He propped one hand on the desktop and stared at the door, straining to hear the other voice.

 

It was a man’s, that much he could tell from the deep, melodic timbre, but whoever it was spoke too softly for him to identify.

 

“Don’t be daft,” Ron said in response to the visitor’s quiet words. “He doesn’t want to talk to  _ you _ .”

 

There was a note of incredulousness in his friend’s voice that set Harry on edge. Whoever else was out there in the hall must be aware he was panicking and thought they could help, but Ron didn’t seem to agree.

 

Arthur, perhaps. Or Nev?

 

But the cadence of the voice wasn’t right, nor Ron’s response.

 

“He’s getting ready. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

 

Ron must have realized how defensive he sounded, because his next words came calmer, more forceful.    
  
“It’s his  _ wedding _ day. This isn’t the time for… whatever you’re about.”

 

Then the other man spoke in cool, amused tones and, for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, Harry went completely still.

 

“I’m quite aware what day it is,” Draco Malfoy said from beyond the bedroom door, the droll words practically dripping from his tongue. “Step aside, Weasley.”

  
  


⌘

  
  


Harry curled his fingers over the straight back of the desk chair, pulling it in front of him, like a shield between him and the door.

 

The door, or perhaps the man on the other side of it.

 

Thinking about his rivalry with Malfoy and the amusement he got from taking the piss out of the aristocratic ponce was a different thing entirely to facing the man himself whilst in the middle of a nervous fit.

 

He could only hope that the spell on the door thwarted his former nemesis much as it had his friends. He couldn’t handle Malfoy right now, no matter how amusing it might be. He wished the other man would just go.

 

That wish proved futile a second later as the doorknob turned. It didn’t rattle. Malfoy turned it once to the right, once to the left, and then back again.

 

Harry listened as Malfoy then ran his hands over the wood of the door and hummed under his breath. After too short a time, he gave a short, satisfied, “Ah!” that sent a lance of fresh panic through Harry.

 

Malfoy chuckled.

 

If Harry had ever imagined Malfoy chuckling with such quiet amusement — and he hadn’t — he would have thought the sound would be more nasal, originating from the long, thin blade of the man’s nose. But the laugh that seeped through to him was rich, deep. It rumbled from Malfoy’s chest.

 

Harry gritted his teeth and stared at the door, willing the spell to hold.

 

“Clever,” Malfoy said with genuine admiration in his tone. Harry crossed his arms, refusing to feel the spark of pride that gave him.

 

The door glowed faintly orange for a moment. Harry held his breath, heart pounding in his ears. It didn’t keep him from hearing Malfoy’s next words, however.

 

“ _ Perfringo intimus. _ ”

 

The spell flashed green and with a click, the door swung open. Harry felt his jaw flop open. Ron’s face, glimpsed over Malfoy’s shoulder, looked as startled as he imagined his own did.

 

Draco took advantage of their shock to pluck the glass of water from Ron’s hand and shut the door in his face.

 

“Hey!” 

 

Ron squawked and thumped his hands against the door, but Malfoy ignored him. He pointed his wand at the lock plate and murmured a spell Harry had never heard before.

 

“ _ Nos astotus _ .”

 

Harry’s fingertips tingled as white light pulsed around the cracks of the door. He could still hear Ron trying to pound on the wood without alerting anyone downstairs, but the sound was muffled.

 

Malfoy slid his wand away and indicated the relocked door with the flourish of one long-fingered hand.

 

“There. Now we may speak privately.” He extended the glass of water to Harry, pale silver eyes taking in his disheveled state. “Drink this. You look wretched.”

 

Harry blinked owlishly at him, but made no move to take the glass. Malfoy stood across the room from him, looking not in the least perturbed by Harry’s silent gaping. The way he stood, surprisingly broad shoulders back, chin up, reminded Harry more of Snape than Lucius, oddly.

 

The clothing, however, was pure Malfoy.

 

His robes were made of fine, soft looking material, like that expensive wool Harry could never remember the name of. They were a pale silvery-grey similar to the color of Malfoy’s eyes, with a high Mandarin collar and small, military style buttons that ran down to his waist along the left side of his chest. The cuffs were tight on his slender wrists, but the sleeves were loose, with purposeful slashes giving glimpses of the sapphire blue silk lining.

 

And while the length swept the floor, a split began at each hip and widened to show off Malfoy’s long legs, which were encased in trousers in a slightly darker shade of grey and knee-high, gleaming black leather boots.

 

When Harry met the other man’s gaze, he expected to see an amused sneer — which he figured was Malfoy’s default expression — but instead he found calm grey eyes and lips turned down at the corners.

 

The severe style of the dress robes highlighted the sharpness of his pointed chin, angled jaw, high cheekbones, and long nose, making his mouth seem softer and pinker in comparison, despite the slight frown.

 

“You haven’t commented on my hair.”

 

“I… what?”

 

Malfoy chuckled again, making Harry’s palms sweat. 

 

Now that he looked, Malfoy’s hair  _ was _ quite different than the last time he’d seen him. Instead of his usual slicked back style, the sides and back appeared to be clipped very short and high, leaving most of his head covered in a soft-looking silver-blond fuzz. The top was long and swept back from his broad forehead in a high, smooth swoop that tapered to a styled vee.

 

It somehow managed to look both proper and rebellious at the same time.

 

“It’s, er, very nice?”

 

Malfoy sighed and extended the water, rocking it back and forth a little until the liquid sloshed against the side of the glass.

 

Harry took it without taking his eyes off the other man and brought the glass to his lips. The water was cool on his tongue and throat. He swore he could even feel it trickling through his chest cavity, cooling the roiling emotions tangled there.

 

He gulped more, shuddering, eyes almost closing.

 

Malfoy stepped further into the room, crossing to where Harry’s robes hung waiting for him to put them on. Slender, alabaster hands traced the shoulders, fingered the stitching and rubbed the fabric.

 

The only comment he made was a faint, “hmm” under his breath.

 

Harry set the empty glass on the desk and cleared his throat, echoing Ron’s earlier words.

 

“What are you doing up here, Malfoy?”

 

Malfoy turned to him, eyed his rumpled state, the discarded bowtie. The frown grew more pronounced, a deep line appearing between his brows.

 

“Christ, Potter, you’re really planning on going through with this, aren’t you? Are you daft?”

 

For a moment, Harry was sure the room turned upside down before righting itself again. His internal organs certainly acted as if it had. Despite the stuffiness of the room, Harry felt suddenly cold. The sweat on his face turned clammy.

 

“What?”

 

It came out a croak. Draco crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“I kept expecting one of you to come to your senses. You know, I really thought it would be you? Brave Saviour, and all that. Surely you’re not too stubborn or afraid to admit you’ve made a mistake. It’s not as if the Weasleys would disown you. They’ve managed to forgive  _ me _ , as well you know.”

 

Despite the roaring of the blood in his veins, Harry heard and understood the other man’s words. He sounded almost  _ disappointed _ .

 

Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. This moment was so surreal he almost expected to wake up still in his bed on Half Moon Court.

 

_ It’s not too late! _

 

The thought made gooseflesh prickle all up his arms. He shook his head. Malfoy sighed, the sound long and exasperated.

 

“Even I think you’re smarter than this, Potter.”

 

That put some steel in Harry’s spine. He straightened, his short nails digging into the chair back.

 

“I don’t know what you’re going on about. I’m marrying Ginny. I  _ want _ to marry Ginny. This is just…” He waved his hand at the sweat-damp shirt and creased trousers. “Nerves. It’s perfectly normal. Ron said so.”

 

Malfoy snorted and rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh, well if the  _ Weasel _ says so.”

 

He sauntered closer, pulling open one of desk drawers and sifting through it. Harry stiffened, sliding a few inches further away from the other man.

 

“Is this meant to be calming me down? Reverse psychology or something?”

 

Draco shook his head without even bothering to look up. Harry couldn’t imagine what could be in Percy’s desk drawer that would be so interesting.

 

“I had no idea you were having a panic attack until I saw the look on your ginger shadow’s face.”

 

It was Harry’s turn to frown. He and Malfoy were not friends. They were no longer enemies, definitely. They occasionally ran into each other at Ministry parties and managed to be generally civil while attending Weasley family functions, but their relationship was that of casual acquaintances, at best.

 

Of course, there had been the joint task force they’d worked three years prior that had them exchanging owls and having lunch together nearly every day for seven months, but that was  _ work _ .

 

And, true, they had both gone on Charlie’s bachelor trip last July and spent a week together in Greece sharing food and laughter and drunken conversation, but there had been six other people along. They’d hardly interacted with each other.

 

Harry  _ had _ poked fun at Malfoy about not being able to tan only to choke on his words when Malfoy later strode out of the beach house Charlie had rented in a tiny green bathing suit, showcasing an awful lot of very white skin. He hadn’t burned, either, while Harry had. Malfoy had come out the better of that round.

 

Still, even if one were to add up all the moments in the last decade that they’d spent together conversing amicably, working, even joking with each other — and there were a surprising amount of them, now Harry actually thought about it — it didn’t make them  _ friends _ . 

 

There was no reason that he could fathom why Draco would be seeking him out on the morning of his wedding. He took a deep, calming breath, ignoring the twisting of his stomach, and asked again.

 

“Why were you up here then?”

 

Malfoy looked up then, blond brows furrowing. He closed the drawer with a slam.

 

“I told you.”

 

“You didn’t, actually.”

 

Two faint spots of color appeared on Malfoy’s smooth, pale cheeks.

 

“I’m here to talk you out of going through with this… All this…” He waved at the dress robes, then at Harry, and then the window and (presumably) the garden below. “This  _ insanity _ .”

 

Draco fixed sparkling grey, narrowed eyes on Harry.

 

“It’s ridiculous.”

 

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “It is not!”

 

The retort sprang from his lips immediately, years of disagreeing with Malfoy making it instinctual despite the smug agreement of the sneaky little voice in his head. Harry glared. Malfoy held up his hands, palm out, the universal sign for peace.

 

Harry blew out a snort.

 

Malfoy strode past him, sitting on the bed with none of Ron’s reluctance. Harry felt a jolt of alarm ripple through him as Malfoy lifted his discarded Weird Sisters t-shirt, but he just eyed it for a moment before folding it neatly and placing it back on the bed. He lifted Harry’s ratty jeans next, and it gave Harry a turn to watch Draco Malfoy pull his trouser legs right side out.

 

“Listen, Harry,” he said, voice soft and even. Non-confrontational. He stacked Harry’s now neatly folded garments and set them aside before meeting Harry’s gaze.

 

“You can’t marry Ginny.”

 

The fact that he’d used Harry’s given name, called Ginny ‘Ginny’ instead of ‘Ginevra’, was so surprising it made Harry’s chest tighten and the little voice whisper so snidely Draco would have been impressed had he heard it.

 

_ See? _ it said.

 

But Harry didn’t see. Because of course he was going to marry Ginny. It was inevitable. Had been from pretty much the moment she’d clapped eyes on him in King’s Cross Station that first time. George had joked about the crush she’d had before she even knew him. And nothing got in the way of Ginevra Molly Weasley’s plans.

 

Besides, he loved her.

 

Of  _ course _ he was going to marry her! That little voice, his nervous stomach, and Draco sodding Malfoy could bloody well shove off if they disagreed.

 

Harry pushed at the sweaty hank of hair on his forehead and scowled at the other man to let him know he meant business. It was his official Auror look and worked a treat in interrogations.

 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t.”

 

_ Please! _

 

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that his interrogation scowl didn’t have the slightest effect on Draco. He’d lived with Voldemort for a year, after all.

 

Dark wizards all over Britain quaked in their seats when Harry stood over them, but Draco just leaned back on his hands and crossed his ankles. He smiled, the slightest upturning of the corners of his lips.

 

“I’ll give you five.”

 

Harry stopped breathing.

  
  
  


⌘

  
  


He had almost forgotten there was a world outside the tiny room, but the muffled thumps from beyond the door grew suddenly louder.

 

“Harry? Harry! Are you alright in there?”

 

Draco’s lips twitched. He rolled his eyes.

 

“Hermione clearly thinks I’ve come up here to kill you. Do please let her know you’re still breathing.”

 

As if he’d just remembered how, Harry inhaled a great, whooping breath. Draco’s smile grew. Harry turned away from him and took the few steps between the desk and the door. He leaned against it.

 

The wood felt startlingly cool against his palm and he could feel the thrum of Draco’s magic along his skin. He glanced back over his shoulder, raised his eyebrows.

 

“Can she hear me?”

 

Draco shrugged one shoulder.

 

“As long as you’re touching the door.”

 

Harry kept his hand pressed to it and spoke evenly.

 

“I’m fine, ‘Mione. We’re just talking.”

 

“You and Draco.”

 

He could hear the astonishment lacing the words. Ron snort-laughed.

 

“Leave it, love. Maybe Malfoy’s just what he needs.”

 

Harry was not only stunned to silence by Ron’s words, they gave him an odd turn.

 

“Ron —”

 

“ _ Trust me _ , ‘Mione.”

 

Unwilling to hear more, Harry pushed away from the door.

 

Draco had shifted while Harry spoke to his friends. He still sat on the bed, but he was no longer lounging. He sat up straight on the edge of the mattress, one long leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent.

 

He had Harry’s bowtie and was smoothing the fabric repeatedly over the knee of his trousers. The bright red of the silk jacquard made the skin of his slender fingers look so white it glowed like a Patronus.

 

“Well?”

 

Harry snapped the word, agitation bubbling under his skin. He paced over to his robes and brushed at invisible lint, turning his back on Malfoy.

 

“Well what, Potter?”

 

That laconic drawl made the muscles between his shoulder blades tighten. Harry scowled. But the fire of anger in his blood was better than the acidic sting of his panic. Perhaps he should indulge the other man.

 

After all, it wasn’t as if anything Draco Malfoy had to say would change his mind.

 

“You said you had five reasons why I shouldn’t get married. Let’s hear them.”

 

Behind him, Malfoy was silent. Harry caught his gaze in the mirror. His smile was crooked, amused. He held up one long, thin finger.

 

“Ginevra isn’t Molly.”

 

Harry turned, crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“You’d rather be an Auror than an Undersecretary.”

 

Draco’s lips parted, pressed together. His jaw flexed. Harry lifted his eyebrows.

 

“I’m sorry, I thought we were stating patently obvious things.”

 

“Leaving aside for a moment how obvious my… desires are to you, Potter, could you refrain from dodging my statement? You asked for reasons. I gave you one.”

 

“That’s rubbish.”

 

He curled his hand over the chair back again, rocking it on its hind legs as Draco’s lips quirked.

 

“It’s not. It’s a valid reason.”

 

“It doesn’t even make sense. I know Ginny isn’t Molly! I don’t want to marry Molly.” 

 

He scrunched his nose up at the idea, ignoring the little voice whispering that he didn’t really want to marry Ginny so much either. 

 

Harry loved Molly, of course. Like a  _ mother _ . Draco tilted his head to the side, a thick skein of white-blond hair sliding from his perfect coif and curving over his wide forehead.

 

He brushed it back with the careless flick of his wrist. When he spoke, his voice was… almost apologetic.

 

“You want a family, Harry.”

 

The soft words struck Harry like so many stinging hexes. His throat closed tight, but he forced words out.

 

“What would you know about what I want, Malfoy?”

 

One corner of Draco’s mouth curled a bit. “More than you might think. But that’s not my point.”

 

Harry knew his posture was defensive, could feel his shoulders going stiff, blood burning in his neck and face.

 

“Then what is your point?”

 

“My point is you don’t want to marry the female Weasley. You want to marry what she represents. Someone to come home to at the end of the day, when a case has been tough, instead of an empty flat. Someone to rub your overly muscled shoulders and make you eat something other than take away chips and curry and greasy kebab from that terrible place that you love, the one on the corner by the Ministry. Someone to have a bunch of earnest little anklebiters with and live with in a…” He waved his long-fingered hand around the room, his pointed nose twitching. “Well, hopefully a more stylish house. With a garden and probably a library and a Quidditch patch in the back.”

 

The picture Draco painted was so perfectly what Harry wanted that his heart twisted with it.

 

“I…” He shook his head, but Draco kept talking.

 

“My point is that  _ that _ life fits the woman downstairs in the kitchen more than it does the one who you’ll be tying yourself to. And you know it.”

 

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat, coughed. He remembered the last time Ginny had appeared on the front page of the Prophet. They followed her like flies even more since the engagement announcement. She’d been dressed in some short little designer dress, disappearing into a posh club, laughing with her teammates as they celebrated a big win just a few weeks ago.

 

She’d obviously caught sight of the photographer as he snapped the picture and lifted her hand in a teasing little wave and given a wink before getting lost in the crowd.

 

“She’s tired of that life,” Harry said, though the words shook.

 

Draco smoothed his palm over his thigh, pressing the sharp crease in his trousers. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “Is she?”

 

“I think I’d know better than you would.”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

He subsided, but lifted his gaze to Harry. The moment hung heavy between them. Draco slid his wand from beneath his robe and pointed it at the door. The muted noise from the hall grew subtly louder.

 

Ron grumbled to himself, the words fading in and out.

 

“...bloody crazy… Malfoy… I knew I should have…”

 

Malfoy rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist, once again muffling Ron’s pacing, but Harry thought he saw his lips twitch into an almost smile. Harry felt an answering grin tug at his own mouth, but the weight still sitting in his gut smothered it.

 

Once the silence had again descended, Harry cleared his throat.

 

“Let’s pretend for a minute I accept your first reason. What’s the second?”

 

Draco held up his hand again, two slender fingers raised. He extended them toward Harry, despite the several feet of space between them, as if he would press the pads against Harry’s mouth to silence him.

 

“You are not ‘The Boy Who Lived’.”

 

Harry blinked, not sure what to say to that. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Draco pushed to his feet. He had to resist the urge to back up as Draco closed the distance between them.

 

With one arched brow, he side-stepped the chair and reached out a hand to flip up Harry’s collar. A second later he slid the bowtie around the back of Harry’s neck.

 

He was too close, his breath mint-scented as he began to tie the heavy silk with deft motions. Harry remained completely still, staring up into his former nemesis’ sharply handsome face.

 

Draco’s long, silver lashes shielded his gaze as he watched the movement of his own hands.

 

“I thought you were, back at school. I had this whole idea of you. Like a celebrity. I grew up knowing your name.”

 

Harry huffed a breath out his nose, just imagining what Lucius Malfoy had said about him when Draco was in the nursery. At the sound, Draco flicked a glance up to meet Harry’s eyes. His mouth curved. Silver irises sparkled.

 

“I didn’t say what I knew was good.”

 

“Then why….? Nevermind. Continue.” Harry shook his head. He tried to glance down to see what sort of intricate knots Draco was tying, but the other man lifted one hand free to push his chin back up. His fingers were soft and cool.

 

“It was like…. There’s a Muggle saying, perhaps you’ve heard it? ‘Never meet your idols, they’ll only disappoint you’?”

 

“Are you saying I was your idol, Draco Malfoy?” He chuckled at the notion. Draco cast him a sharp look from under his lashes.

 

“I’m saying you disappointed me, Potter.”

 

With a final tug of Harry’s collar, Draco stepped back, and then brushed his hands down the front of Harry’s shirt. Harry sucked in his breath, suddenly self-conscious about the state of the muscles beneath. He trained often for his job, but he doubted that would stand up to the scrutiny of Malfoy.

 

Draco patted his stomach and then turned on his heel, the hem of his robe flaring out behind him.

 

“When I thought of ‘The Boy Who Lived’, I imagined someone who knew who they were to the Wizarding world, who reveled in it the way I thought I would. But not only did you not know, you didn’t  _ want _ to know.”

 

Harry angled himself toward the mirror, admiring Draco’s handiwork despite himself. The bowtie was tied perfectly and crisply beneath his chin and he didn’t feel strangled.

 

They stood with their backs to each other, but somehow that made Harry feel better. Safer.

 

“And that disappointed you?”

 

He tried to imagine young Draco on the Hogwarts train, expecting a celebrity and instead just finding Harry. His mouth tipped sideways. Even though he was apparently rifling through Percy’s empty wardrobe, Draco seemed to sense Harry’s mirth.

 

“I’ve gotten over it, trust me.”

 

Harry began undoing the buttons on the front of his robes for something to do, though the thought of putting it on and going downstairs still made him feel hollow.

 

“And how, exactly, does this have anything to do with me and Ginny anyway?”

 

“She grew up knowing your name too, Harry.”

 

He flushed, because he couldn’t deny that. He’d always known that as a child, Ginny had had girlish dreams of growing up and marrying him. She’d admitted it herself one drunken night when they lay tangled in his sheets back before their split. She plucked at his chest hair and giggled through a story of how she’d practiced kissing on her Harry Potter doll.

 

“Not an actual one, mind you, but a little rag thing Mum made me. I drew on a little lightning bolt.” She fisted his fringe in her small, calloused hand.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Draco shut the wardrobe door and lean back against it, wrists crossed behind his back. It stretched the fine fabric of his robe across his chest.

 

Harry left the unbuttoned robe hanging open and perched on the edge of Percy’s desk for a second time, wary but resolute.

 

“She’s not a little girl anymore, Draco. She knows me now. She knows who I really am.”

 

Didn’t she? Granted, she hadn’t been around much over the last few years. Those two months after her return were the first real stretch of time they’d spent together since Hogwarts. But he was certain Ginny didn’t still harbor those girlhood fantasies of being a celebrity wife. She knew he preferred a quiet life of work and friends, out of the limelight that still chased him even after all this time.

 

But Malfoy’s shrewd gaze pinned him against the warm wood desk, speaking volumes without another word, and that unquiet voice in his head kept whispering.

 

_ The limelight you hate… you mean the one Ginny winks and waves at? _

 

Harry held his place, straightened his shoulders.

 

“You haven’t convinced me yet.”

 

_ Hasn’t he? _

 

Draco pressed back against the wardrobe door. His jaw tensed. Out in the hall, Ron and Hermione must have been trying to open the door, because the spell glowed white and Harry could hear them arguing with each other.

 

But whatever they were doing didn’t work. The spell held.

 

From his position beside the door, Draco cursed under his breath. The harsh epithet surprised Harry, jerking his attention back to the other man. For all Draco’s seemingly genuine words up to that point, he had assumed this was some sort of strange lark. But that impassioned imprecation sounded as if… as if he  _ cared _ .

 

Harry leaned back further, that notion alien and huge and frightening.

 

Draco shoved one large, long-fingered hand through his hair, mussing the artful strands.

 

“Running out of time,” he muttered.

 

They both glanced at the window. Rare English sunshine had broken through the clouds and bathed the room in thin golden light. It was probably still cool outside, but the sunlight was welcome after what felt like a month straight of rain.

 

“Do you love her, Harry?”

 

Harry’s gaze slid inexorably back to Draco’s face. There was a look there he couldn’t interpret, something turning silver irises the color of rain-wet stone. He wasn’t sure if it was the look or the question that made his heart spin in his chest.

 

“Ginny? Of course.”

 

The answer came easily. The only other woman he’d ever been as easy around was Hermione. 

 

Ginny made him laugh. And they’d always got on well together. People had been stunned when they split after school. But Ginny had wanted to travel and though Harry enjoyed a nice trip, he preferred being on home soil. And they’d both been so focused on their career goals — she on Quidditch and him on rising through the Auror ranks. Their lives just hadn’t meshed.

 

Harry supposed he should have been devastated but it wasn’t as if they’d had a big row and cut each other from their lives. They’d remained friends throughout the years, getting together for dinner or a pick-up game whenever Gin was in town. Things were good between them.

 

Marriage would be even better. They were perfect for each other. Everyone said so.

 

And he  _ did _ love her.

 

Draco sighed and straightened, no longer meeting Harry’s gaze. He looked in the mirror instead, his hands smoothing his rumpled hair back into sleek lines.

 

“Then I suppose there’s nothing else left to say.”

 

Harry gaped as Draco turned to the door and drew his wand. When his lips parted to utter the spell that would unlock it, Harry’s brain went fuzzy with shock. Draco was just giving up? That was so unlike him. During school, his mission had been to make Harry’s life miserable and nothing had gotten in his way. Except Voldemort, but there was hardly a Dark Lord lurking in the hallway just now with Ron.

 

Draco had really seemed determined to talk him out of this marriage. And now he was just… leaving.

 

“Wait!”

 

The word exploded from his tongue without thought. Draco froze. Harry realized he was holding out his hand, reaching for the other man, and dropped it as blood heated his cheeks.

 

Draco didn’t turn around. He bent his head, baring the vulnerable nape of his neck.

 

“What?”

 

“That was only two reasons.”

 

Harry didn’t know what he was doing. All he knew was that the panic that had subsided when Draco entered the room and confronted him began to creep back at the prospect of him opening the door.

 

Draco’s shoulders fell. He shook his head.

 

“I thought I could do this. Whatever it took to get my point across. I thought this time I could be the one who sav—” He cut himself off, laughing. But the sound was much bleaker than his earlier chuckles. A harsh caw. 

 

“But of course, I was wrong.”

 

“Draco? What are you talking about?” Harry felt his forehead crease as he tried to understand the other man’s words.

 

He turned then, hands in white-knuckled fists at his sides. He lifted that pointed chin and gave Harry a thin, pained smile.

 

“It doesn’t matter. You love her, that’s the most important thing. The rest is…” Draco blinked rapidly, waved his hand. Then he squared his shoulders and met Harry’s gaze head on. “I wish you happy, Harry.”

 

And there it was again, that bone-deep sincerity in every word that said Draco Malfoy cared what happened to him. Beyond just work acquaintances and former enemies. The knowledge pressed against Harry’s skull like the beginnings of a headache.

 

When Draco murmured, “I’ll go,” and once again made ready to open the door, Harry acted without thinking.

 

“Accio wand!”

 

Draco’s wand, the wood still warm from his hand, zipped into Harry’s waiting palm.

 

He felt the deepening heat in his chest and throat and knew he was blushing red. Sweat prickled his hairline and the back of his neck.

 

Draco opened his mouth, closed it, cocked one eyebrow.

 

“Really, Potter?”

 

Harry’s lips tilted in a sheepish grin. He shrugged and laid Draco’s wand on the desk beside his thigh. Draco snorted.

 

He knew if the other man attempted to get the wand back, he easily could. But Draco made no move to reclaim it. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and kept his mouth closed. The posture was telling; Draco had no plan to continue with his other three reasons.

 

Everything in Harry, though, was screaming that this was important. That he needed to hear Draco out. That he  _ had _ to hear these reasons.

 

_ If anything he says can change my mind _ , Harry thought,  _ then maybe I shouldn’t be marrying Ginny. And if it doesn’t… _

 

Well, if it didn’t, he’d know he’d made the right choice six months ago when they’d both been maudlin and drinking too much of Luna’s homemade elderberry wine.

 

“Please, Draco.”

 

Draco stilled, as if the words had turned him to stone. Even his breath seemed to have stopped.

 

Harry waited, watched, as Draco pressed his lips tightly together. They showed white all around. What had changed, he wondered? Draco had clearly come up to the room with a plan. But then he’d asked him that last question and it somehow derailed him.

 

Had he really thought Harry didn’t love Ginny? She was one of his best friends!

 

After several long, tense moments, Draco finally spoke. His voice was rough, as if Harry was dragging the words from him by force. Or magic. His chest heaved and his cheeks and throat showed faint pink blotches.

 

He held up three fingers, grey eyes glittering dangerously.

 

“She’s still in love with Krum.”

 

Harry flinched. Draco made a noise in the back of his throat — a disgusted growl — and spun away from him. He punched the wall beside the door as hard as he could, the muscles of his back flexing. It must have hurt, but Draco just leaned his forehead against the beige paint and panted quietly.

 

When he spread his hand out against the wall, Harry could see the split, reddened knuckles. Blood welled from the third one.

 

Harry muttered a quick, “ _ Medens basium _ ,” and watched as the wounds faded away.

 

Draco sighed.

 

Harry licked his lips, trying to find the words to respond to Draco’s latest reason. But there was only one thing to say, unless he was going to lie. And that felt like the wrong thing to do. Something, some small hard place inside him seemed to break open then and the acid that had been within drained away.

 

“I know.”

 

Draco jerked around, pale face tense with shock. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

 

Harry was glad. He needed a moment to process what had just happened. It was the first time he’d said the words out loud. Really admitted it to himself.

 

The entire world knew that Ginny and Viktor Krum had been involved in an on-again-off-again relationship for the last five years. They were darlings of the Quidditch world. There were countless blogs and Warbler feeds dedicated to 24/7 ‘Krumsley Watch’.

 

Eight months ago, something had happened in Bucharest to end all that. Harry didn’t know the details, but he knew that things had blown up between them rather spectacularly.

 

Ginny had come home looking drawn and exhausted, refusing to talk about Viktor to anyone. Only when she’d gotten drunk had she confided that she still loved him, missed him, thought of him constantly. Harry, several sheets to the wind himself, had tried to be supportive.

 

“So, go after ‘im, Gin! Fight for ‘im. For you!”

 

But she only shook her head and said it would never work out. “I’ve been fighting, Harry. For years. I’m done. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

 

And what did Harry know? Despite how much he cared for Ginny, they both knew it wasn’t the passionate, soul deep kind he imagined his parents had shared. Harry doubted he would ever know that kind of emotion, and wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He told her so, that night. Then they’d both cried into their cups, until Harry had gotten the brilliant idea to propose.

 

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. An answer to all their woes. And even after, when they sobered up, it had made sense. Because they did get on and they did love each other.

 

Harry knew she still loved Krum, though. He’d read it in her eyes every time the wedding came up. Each time Molly’s wireless announced the team scores. And when he’d heard Krum was in London, he’d even wondered if perhaps she would come to him, call the whole thing off.

 

_ You hoped _ , the voice cooed.  _ You hoped she would so you wouldn’t have to… coward. _

 

She hadn’t, though. And here they were. She downstairs in her parent’s room, and he upstairs in Percy’s.

 

“You’re both unbelievable!”

 

Draco shoved both hands into his hair and tugged. Harry winced.

 

“Er….”

 

Draco strode over to him and poked a long finger into the center of his chest. Hard.

 

“I went to her first, you know. I asked her if she thought it was fair to marry you when she loved someone else.”

 

Harry leaned away from his former nemesis, who was looking quite a bit like his childhood adversary just at the moment. Then Draco’s words registered and he stiffened.

 

“You did?”

 

Draco’s chin dipped in a curt nod.

 

“She said I should know better than anyone how fair life was. But I just couldn’t…”

 

Draco stepped away from him, again smoothing his hair and robes. He scraped straight, white teeth over his plump lower lip. Once he seemed satisfied he was put to rights, he met Harry’s gaze with grave grey eyes.

 

“I saw them together. At The Savoy. I’m sorry, Harry.”

 

He hunched forward a little, feeling fresh blood burn in his cheeks. “Oh. Well. We did agree that up until we’d said our vows, we were both free to… er…”

 

Because they weren’t doing anything of the kind with each other, but somehow that had seemed not at all odd until Harry considered it just then.

 

Draco’s eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. He pressed it closed.

 

“In the  _ restaurant _ . Not… Christ, Harry, do you really think so little of me that you believe I’d come in here and blurt out that I saw your fiancé shagging some other bloke?”

 

Harry felt a prick of shame at the shocked hurt in Draco’s voice. He kept waiting for the relief to follow Draco’s assertion that Ginny and her ex hadn’t been at the hotel to share anything other than a meal, but it didn’t come.

 

Instead, he almost wished… But no. He pushed that thought away.

 

Harry cleared his throat and tipped his head toward Draco.

 

“Apologies,” he mumbled. “So, you saw them in the restaurant, and…?”

 

Draco pulled out the chair and folded elegantly into it. He crossed his legs and arranged his robes to drape over them.

 

“They were just talking. But it….” He glanced up. “It was clear that Krum doesn’t want it to be over between them.”

 

Harry swallowed, his heart hammering. He couldn’t tell what the emotion churning in his belly was. None of the anger he probably should be feeling, just unease and confusion and… some unnamed thing that spun quicker with each word Draco spoke.

 

He pushed his hands into his pockets.

 

“He never did. Ginny broke it off. Whatever issue they had, she couldn’t get past it. And she’s  _ not _ going back to him.”

 

Couldn’t get past  _ what _ , she’d never told him though. Draco cocked his head.

 

“That’s what she said to me, too.”

 

Harry wanted to ask what else had passed between them during the no doubt uncomfortable conversation. Not, surprisingly, to know what Ginny had said, but because he was curious about what  _ Draco _ had said to  _ her _ .

 

“When Ginny makes up her mind about something, it’s made.”

 

Draco sighed. “And it doesn’t bother you at all? That you’re pledging the rest of your life to someone who doesn’t love you?”

 

Harry blinked. When Draco had first said he had five reasons, Harry had expected them to be things about blood status or wealth… or ginger hair. Silly, superficial, wrong,  _ Malfoy _ reasons.

 

Not this. Not  _ love _ .

 

Because now the voice in his head was cheering, clamoring about things it had been whispering about for months. About how there was more, could be more. Not just for him, but for Gin. That they were selling themselves short. That he was hiding, allowing Ginny to hide.

 

“She does love me,” he rasped.

 

Draco’s hand clenched on his thigh. He slowly straightened his fingers without looking at Harry.

 

“But she’s not in love with you. And you —” He bit his lip. “Are you in love with her?”

 

Harry bristled.

 

“I told you I love her.”

 

“It’s not the same thing, Harry. Not at all.”

 

Harry wanted to scoff. Ask what Draco Malfoy knew about being in love. But there was a fusible glow to his eyes that made questioning him impossible. 

 

Draco Malfoy had been in love — the real, true, deep, soul-searing kind that changed a person’s whole life — and the knowledge of that settled in Harry’s gut like a ball of burning lead.

 

Who was it, Harry wondered, that put that fire in Draco’s cool eyes? There had been talk once, about Malfoy and the Greengrass girl. But that was back when Lucius was still alive, before Narcissa moved to Italy. He’d not been seen with anyone since, didn’t bring anyone to Ministry functions except Pansy Parkinson-Creevey or Zabini, if the handsome, brown-skinned wizard was between wives.

 

Harry knew he wasn’t involved with Pansy, because everyone knew about her and her husband’s strange and inexplicable (but undeniable when you saw them together) romance.

 

Perhaps Draco and Blaise…?

 

The two made a striking pair, both tall, lithe, and good-looking. Zabini as dark as Draco was light.

 

Harry shook his head, not willing to let his mind wander down that path.

 

He and Draco stared at each other. Harry was vaguely aware of the flickering of the spell on the door — white, pink, yellow, white — but there was no sound from the hall and the door remained closed.

 

Harry’s lips twitched. “Hermione hasn’t figured out your spell yet. I’m a little impressed.”

 

Draco tsked, but then his mouth curved.

 

“It’s actually a very simple counterspell, but I doubt she’ll guess it. She’d never think it of me.”

 

“Oh?” Harry quirked a brow, intrigued.

 

Draco smirked then, the expression spreading across his face.

 

“It’s a sanctuary spell.”

 

Harry gaped, stunned not only to think of Draco using that particular spell for this occasion, but that he’d so effortlessly cast such a powerful spell.

 

Draco huffed out a chuckle. “Oh, Harry. Your face.”

 

He scowled, but that only made the other man laugh harder. Draco bent forward, his arms crossed over his abdomen. Harry thought perhaps there was an edge of nerves to the laughter, but the husky sound made his own lips twitch regardless.

 

Draco’s laughter tapered off, leaving the air in the room somehow lighter. The silence that drifted between them then didn’t have the jagged edges it had earlier.

 

In that space, something else began to build. Despite the lightness in the air, it still felt charged. Like before a storm, when you could feel the change in atmosphere on your skin and humming in your blood. Taste it on your lips. 

 

Harry felt the lightning in his belly and shifted on the edge of the desk, his heart thumping erratically. Draco pressed back into the chair, stretching his long torso and crossed legs. He laid one hand on his knee while the other rested on the chair’s arm. His silver-grey eyes narrowed knowingly on Harry while one corner of his ripe mouth hinted the barest bit upward.

 

The pose looked like something out of Witch Weekly’s 30 Most Eligible Wizards Over 30, Pure Blood Edition.

 

(Not that Draco had been in that issue, though Harry knew he’d been asked.)

 

Compared to Draco’s cool, stylish elegance, Harry felt like a waiter in his dark trousers, white shirt, and bow tie. He swallowed, feeling heat crawl up his throat and sting his cheeks.

 

Draco let the moment hang for several beats before breaking it with quiet words.

 

“Are you convinced yet?”

  
  
  
  


⌘

  
  


Harry shoved off the desk with a puff of exertion and dodged past Draco to press his hand against the door. It was warm and hummed with magic, and the second his skin touched it, he heard Hermione’s voice.

 

“... hasn’t asked yet, by some miracle, but it’s only a matter of time.”

 

“It’s not as if Malfoy’s likely to be killing him,” Ron replied. “And what else is there to worry about? We’ll just have to stall them.”

 

“And how do you know he’s not planning on hurting Harry?”

 

Ron snorted. “Be a bit of a rubbish plan, wouldn’t it? Show up at the wedding, let everyone see him, then lock himself in a room with Harry and make himself the only suspect? Even I think the Ferret is smarter than that.”

 

Harry smiled. Hermione, too, seemed amused by her husband.

 

“Why, Ronald Bilius Weasley, you sounded like a proper Auror just then.”

 

“Oi. Only then?!”

 

Hermione laughed, the happy, musical sound soon muffled by what Harry was sure was probably Ron’s mouth.

 

Harry pulled his hand away from the wood, the exchange warming his heart even as it made it twist. His two best friends couldn’t be more different. Ron followed his gut more than his head, which served him remarkably well as an Auror but clashed with his highly intelligent wife’s approach to life.

 

That clash often led to heated arguments. Ron stomped out to his shed in back of their little cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole and tossed things about whilst cursing. Hermione disappeared into her home office and muttered at her books.

 

But they always found a way back to each other, because neither one of them could imagine not being together.

 

And just thinking that brought back Draco’s earlier words. 

 

_ “It’s not the same thing, Harry. Not at all.” _

 

It wasn’t. What Ron and Hermione had, it was nothing like him and Ginny.

 

Turning away from the door, he found Draco’s eyes on him.

 

Harry took a deep breath, struggling to find calm amidst the crackling under his skin. He couldn’t bring himself to get close to the other man at the moment, so instead he opted to take up Draco’s former post leaning against Percy’s wardrobe.

 

In a sudden fit of aggravation, he yanked at the expertly knotted bowtie. The complicated thing came loose with surprising ease. He tossed it toward the bed, undid the top two buttons of his shirt, and then proceeded to roll his sleeves up to the elbow.

 

The scuff of the chair against the wooden floor announced Draco’s movement.

 

“No,” Harry said as Draco stood and rounded on him.

 

Draco halted, shoulders back. He tilted his head, pointed chin imperious, and lifted one of those thin brows.

 

“No. No, you’re not convinced. The fact that the two of you want different lives, and are not in love, is not enough to make you rethink what you’re doing.”

 

Harry crossed his arms.

 

“You have five reasons. I want to hear them all.”

 

Draco’s eyes glinted in a sudden shaft of sunlight, his mouth curving. Harry shifted his head to avoid the glare, his gaze falling on the stark, toned lines of Draco’s body, highlighted by the severe cut of his soft grey robes and tailored dark trousers.

 

When Draco shifted, the swell of his thigh showed through the cut in the robe.

 

“Are you sure you want to hear my next reason?”

 

Harry lifted his gaze to Draco’s face, the high, haughty cheekbones, the pink slash of his mouth. There was an amused tilt to his lips, a teasing note in his voice that made Harry’s face heat and his heart thump double time.

 

Nothing good had ever come from Draco Malfoy teasing him, had it?

 

When Draco took two steps toward him, Harry suddenly wished Percy’s room was bigger, that there was space at his back instead of the smoothness of solid wood. He watched, a hitch in his breath, as Draco lifted his hand yet again.

 

This time, four long, ivory fingers extended while his thumb stayed tucked against his palm.

 

His voice was a low, rumbling whisper.

 

“You’re sure.”

 

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes off Draco’s face as he drew closer. His breath caught in his throat, but he nodded.

 

Draco grinned. He stepped close enough that Harry was surrounded by the citrus-and-spice scent of his expensive cologne. They were nearly nose-to-nose, or they would have been if Draco wasn’t several inches taller. The height disparity forced Harry’s head back so he could look the other man in the eye.

 

It was the only movement he was capable of. Draco had him pinned against the wardrobe simply with the weight of his glittering grey stare.

 

Then, he touched those four fingertips to the center of Harry’s chest. Just over his swiftly beating heart.

 

Harry parted his lips, desperate for air, eyes wide. Draco merely smiled and began slowly dragging his four fingers down the front of Harry’s shirt. When he reached the waist of the dark trousers, his middle finger plucked at the button. He chuckled when Harry sucked in a shocked breath.

 

Draco bent his head, his breath puffing against Harry’s cheek.

 

“You’ve been hard practically since I walked in the room.”

 

Harry’s heart beat in his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, to deny the charge, but no sound came out. His nerves hummed with Draco’s proximity.

 

And, lord, but Draco was right. His cock pressed heavy and hard and aching against his pants. He could feel the heat of Draco’s palm radiating through the fabric and it made him throb.

 

He shook his head, but it was a struggle to keep his hips from arching, to not press into that teasing hand.

 

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

 

Draco huffed a silent laugh, his mouth millimeters from Harry’s jaw. He curled his fingertips into the waistband of Harry’s trousers and extended his thumb to rub lightly along the side of Harry’s erection.

 

“It means there’s something else you’ll be giving up.”

 

_ Yes _ , that insidious voice whispered, drowning him in memories of that wild night in Paris and a sloe-eyed young man with a wicked mouth. It had only been once, but no other time compared to it except for his brief post-Hogwarts time with Ginny.

 

And now.

 

Now, with Draco’s mint-scented breath wafting against his cheek and the heat of his body seeping into Harry’s skin, he couldn’t remember ever being so excited. So… wanting.

 

Harry turned his head, closed his eyes, unable to meet the other man’s gaze any longer. Draco remained exactly where he was, not speaking another word. This is what he did, Harry realized. He made his point, set the hook, and then left Harry to squirm on it. To free himself from it.

 

He licked his lips.

 

“It’s not enough.”

 

Draco sighed. His mouth ghosted along the edge of Harry’s flexing jaw. His thumb gave another tender stroke to the head of Harry’s cock, and then he released him and stepped back. Harry’s eyelids felt heavy but he forced them open and turned to look into Draco’s face.

 

This close, Draco’s lips were plump and pink. He watched as that lush mouth twisted.

 

“Then—”

 

Harry’s hands moved without thought, fisting in the fine fabric of Draco’s robes and yanking him forward. Their noses bumped. Draco’s chin grazed his cheek. But then their mouths connected and there were no other kisses and no other moments before that one.

 

Draco’s lips were damp, hot satin as they parted against his. Harry tasted Draco’s rough moan, he sucked it in and swallowed it.

 

Smooth, cool palms skimmed his shoulders, squeezed, and then stroked up his throat. Draco buried his fingers in Harry’s thick, black hair and curled around the back of his skull.

 

Harry released his grip on Draco’s robe and slid his arms around his trim waist to pull him even closer.

 

The flex and play of Draco’s muscles under his hands filled Harry with a hunger unlike anything he’d ever felt. He’d enjoyed sex with women. And as incredible as his Parisian lover had been, he knew that some of the spark of that experience was how new and surprising it was. Men held an allure, but not one that drove him to distraction.

 

But this was different. This was  _ Draco _ . 

 

Draco’s tongue in his mouth, curling with his. Draco’s teeth scraping his lower lip. Draco’s thigh slipping between his legs, rubbing against his cock.

 

Harry dug his fingers into the firm flesh of Draco’s ass, urging him to press closer, to rock. The iron brand of Draco’s erection prodded Harry’s hip and he wanted to shred the clothes between them. To feel that hot, silky, hard flesh against his naked skin. In his bare palm.

 

He growled against Draco’s lips. “I need more.”

 

The other man tore his mouth free, chuckling. He nipped Harry’s jaw, his earlobe. They were both panting, Percy’s wardrobe bearing much of their weight. 

 

Draco pulled back, eyes molten silver. His fingers curled in Harry’s collar.

 

“Let me show you how much more there can be, Harry. Please.”

 

The plea burned across Harry’s brain with visions of all Draco was offering. And he heard the ghost of Ginny’s quiet words from the last time they managed dinner alone.

 

_ “You should try, Harry. At least once, before…” _

 

(And the fact that neither of them could say the word without flinching probably wasn’t a good sign, was it?)

 

But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now. Not with Draco.

 

That voice inside him didn’t agree. His body didn’t agree. It ached to let Draco do as he pleased. Everything and anything he wanted.

 

Harry’s heart throbbed. His cock pulsed against Draco’s thigh.

 

Listening to his head, his heart, his gut, weighing each against his conscience, Harry made his choice.

 

He cupped Draco’s face and kissed his lush pink lips. Looked into his silver eyes.

 

“No,” he whispered, watching the spasm of pain cross Draco’s face at his denial. “Let  _ me _ .”

 

Draco stood frozen, mouth wet and open, eyes wide, as Harry’s fingers danced deftly down the long row of buttons on his robes. The fabric sagged open, revealing the smooth, sculpted planes of Draco’s chest and stomach.

 

Faint white lines zig-zagged across that creamy expanse, one coming dangerously close to bisecting one small, rosy nipple.

 

Harry traced his finger over the scar, barely touching the skin, until it tapered off at the edge of the tight bud. When he reached it, he circled it, drawing a gasp from Draco. He let his hands wander, explore all that warm, silken skin stretched over tight, toned muscle.

 

Draco let him, his breath ragged and soft, his eyes dark pools rimmed by the faintest circle of silver.

 

Those eyes watched him as he shoved the soft, heavy robe from Draco’s shoulders and down his arms, undoing the cuffs to free his wrists. Neither one of them so much as flinched as the material fell to the floor with a muffled thwump, leaving Draco standing before him in only his tight, charcoal trousers and tall black leather boots.

 

Draco lifted his chin, nostrils flaring, and bit his lip, his teeth digging into the swollen pink flesh.

 

Harry pulled it free, smoothed it with his thumb. His heart beat loudly in his ears as he leaned forward and sucked it into his mouth. Draco swayed into him, hands catching his biceps.

 

He stopped thinking about anything but Draco.

 

“Harry.” 

 

Draco moaned his name against his throat, his teeth sharp as they scraped the edge of his collarbone. His hands caressed Harry’s forearms, fingers twisting with Harry’s fingers.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“What I want.”

 

What he  _ needed _ .

 

Harry blew out his breath and brought their joined hands to the waistband of Draco’s trousers. Draco shuddered, his eyelids drooping and his hands falling away as Harry tugged at the fastening.

 

The fabric was stretched taut over Draco’s erection, the buttons straining. They popped open easily under Harry’s fingers.

 

Beneath the dark fabric, Draco’s pants were made of pale blue silk. Harry could see the outline of Draco’s cock through the thin fabric, the round head pushing outward, moisture darkening the material from sky to cobalt.

 

Harry’s knees shook. His throat felt tight even while his chest expanded like a balloon with each uneven breath.

 

When he curled his shaking fingers around the rigid length of Draco’s shaft, they both groaned. It throbbed in his hand, long and thick. Harry stroked down to the base, drinking in Draco’s broken cry.

 

In Paris, he hadn’t been able to do this, could only lie there and drown in the new sensations as a near stranger touched him.

 

His chest burned with a fierce joy to be experiencing it now. With this man. It felt astonishingly… right. He bit at that sharp, pale chin. Kissed the corner of Draco’s mouth. Licked at the shell of his ear.

 

“I’ve never done this before,” he confessed in a hush.

 

Draco’s hands shook as he stroked Harry’s mussed, damp hair back from his forehead.

 

“You don’t have to.” His fingers traced around Harry’s ears. “You don’t have to do anything, Harry. I…” Draco’s fingers wandered to his lips, outlined them. His eyes flickered. “I just want you to be happy.”

 

The pulse of his blood in his veins was almost deafening, but those words penetrated the fog of lust. Harry blinked, tried to clear his head and understand what the other man was saying, but his heart beat too loudly. The same word over and over again.

 

_Dra-co._ _Dra-co._ **_Dra-co._**

 

He folded to his knees, the floor hard through the twill of his trousers. Draco sifted his fingers through Harry’s thick hair, his eyes glittering as he looked down on him.

 

Harry felt that look on every inch of his skin. It prickled and tightened, throbbed with the need to be touched. But he needed this more. Unable to break that gaze, Harry fumbled to draw Draco’s pants down to his thighs. A faint, soft down of golden hair dusted the alabaster flesh.

 

The heat from Draco’s skin carried his scent, richer and muskier than the scent of his cologne. Harry leaned forward, dragged his nose along the crease where leg met hip. The muscles of Draco’s thighs trembled.

 

Draco’s cock jerked with pleasure, flushed pink with blood and hard as iron.

 

He curled his fingers around it, skin to skin, as he’d wished to earlier. Draco groaned, pushed into his grip. Harry felt the heat, the pulse of blood under his fingers, watched a gleaming bead of fluid well from the slit in the smooth, round head.

 

When he touched his lips to it, Draco murmured something that sounded like a prayer.

 

Harry wanted to take his time, to savor every little thing, but it was such a crash of sensation that he felt overwhelmed. 

 

The heat and weight of Draco’s cock on his tongue, stretching his lips until his jaw ached. The tang of his pre-come. The way his saliva-slick shaft glided through his fingers. The prickle of softly curling blond hair tickling his nose, rasping against the side of his hand and his palm when he cupped the soft weight of Draco’s testicles in his free hand. The groans and whimpers drifting from Draco’s lips. The tug of Draco’s fingers in his hair. The warm scent of skin and cloth, salt and soap.

 

Even the sharp pain in his knees from kneeling and the dull throb of his own need added to the whirlwind of the moment.

 

He reveled in it.

 

“Harry, oh, Harry, Harry!”

 

He might’ve expected cursing or filthy talk from a man like Draco, grasping hands and deep thrusts. But his words, the touch of his hands, were gentle. Amazed. He rocked his hips, sliding his cock between Harry’s lips in long, rhythmic pulses.

 

Harry caressed the taut, flexing muscles of his ass, his thighs, rolled his balls in his palm, urged him on with tight, squeezing strokes of his fingers. He curled his tongue, swiped, sucked hard, rubbed his lips softly over the tip.

 

“I’m not going to… Harry, I’m not going to last. You have to —”

 

He met Draco’s wild gaze and sank slowly down, swallowing even as his eyes and throat stung. Draco’s body shuddered. His cock swelled, pulsed, and then Harry felt the liquid heat of Draco’s come splash the back of his tongue. There was only the brief taste of bitter salt before he swallowed again. And again. And again.

 

Above him, Draco shook and moaned his name.

 

Harry sucked until he’d wrung every last drop, every last gasp and whimper, out of the other man. Then he drew slowly back, panting with desire and pleasure, his own body humming with arousal. He rested his forehead on Draco’s belly, pressed a kiss to his hip with tingling lips.

 

“Come here.”

 

It was a very imperious, Malfoy-like command, despite the rasp.

 

Harry rose with a rough chuckle of his own, sliding into the other man’s arms. Draco wrapped his strong, slender arms around Harry. Their mouths met in another deep, slick, hot kiss. Draco moaned, his tongue flicking against Harry’s as if he could taste himself there.

 

When he pulled back, his pale cheeks were flushed, his eyes glittering. He tugged at the collar of Harry’s shirt.

 

“This is not how I imagined this would happen.”

 

The words sent a zing of electricity through Harry. His cock throbbed.

 

“No?”

 

Draco shook his head, his hands stroked over Harry’s broad shoulders.

 

“You’re much more clothed than I’d prefer, for one thing.”

 

That made them both laugh, though the sound was breathless. Harry studied Draco’s face. He’d never seen it from so close before and it looked profoundly different. Though, perhaps that was the heavy-lidded languor, the satisfaction. The happiness.

 

He had never realized how tense Draco always looked until he saw him now, his mouth curved upward and eyes squinted until faint lines showed at the corners.

 

Harry kissed him again, nipping at his lips, caressing the long muscles of his back. He kissed him until he ached to bury himself inside him completely, to press closer until there was nothing between them, not even air.

 

“Did you imagine it often?” He barely recognized his own voice, it was so rough with need.

 

Draco palmed Harry’s cock, drawing a surprised grunt from him.

 

“More times than you can guess.”

 

He stroked Harry gently once, twice, three times. Harry shuddered. Both from the touch and the meaning behind the words. He wanted to ask more, ask how long Draco had wanted him, why he’d never said, why… 

 

But his blood pounded and his heart raced and his head spun. He closed his eyes and sagged against Draco, rested his head on the other man’s shoulder and breathed in his scent.

 

Draco’s hand ceased its teasing and disappeared.

 

“Draco,” he gasped, his eyes flying open. The look that greeted him was wary. Vulnerable. It was a look he couldn’t remember ever seeing before on the other man’s face.

 

“Harry…”

 

Draco’s hands cupped his jaw, his thumbs stroked Harry’s cheeks. Silver-grey eyes stared into his.

 

“Are you really going to go through with it?”

 

His voice broke on the last few words, and Harry knew he wasn’t talking about what was happening between them. He meant Ginny. He meant the wedding.

 

Harry’s heart thundered as he thought of all the people gathering downstairs, and Ginny… but Draco was right. What they were doing wasn’t fair to either of them. Harry had known the truth before he’d even arrived. Draco was only telling him things he already knew in his soul.

 

Now, there was only one answer to Draco’s question that he could live with.

 

“No, Draco,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to Draco’s for a quick sip of his lips. “No, I’m not.”

 

Draco’s hands gripped him tightly, pulled him close. He didn’t say anything else but his kiss said a thousand things Harry wasn’t sure he dared believe.

 

His hands were at Harry’s waistband when a crystalline chime sounded throughout the room. Draco pulled his mouth from Harry’s and cursed.

 

“Damn Granger and her too-clever brain.”

 

With a final nipping kiss, he bent to retrieve his robe from the floor and began pulling it back on.

 

“We have about a minute before she comes through that bloody door. Probably with the Weasel behind her.”

 

Harry blinked, shook his head. It took a long moment for Draco’s words to sink in. When they did, he glanced from the door, to Draco, down to himself. Somehow, Draco looked once again pristine, while he seemed unaccountably rumpled.

 

His fingers felt thick and stupid as he fumbled to smooth down his sleeves and refasten his cuffs.

 

So much had changed in him since Draco had opened the door, and yet so little actual time had passed. His head spun with it all. He picked up his discarded bowtie and stared at it.

 

Draco plucked it from his fingers. For a moment he thought the other man would once again wind it around his throat, but instead he held it up.

 

“You’re not going to need this, are you?”

 

There was again that flare of nostril, that imperious chin tilt, but Harry glimpsed the glint of vulnerability shining in those silver irises. Harry’s heart felt light as he shook his head.

 

Draco grinned broadly and crushed the gleaming red fabric in his fist just as the white light flared and the bedroom door burst open.

 

Harry had only a second to wonder if the room smelled of sex before he registered that it was not merely Ron and Hermione pouring in. Arthur was there, too. Charlie. George. Neville. Luna. They were all chattering, but the sound was muffled by the roaring in his ears.

 

But it was the last face that had his heart plummeting to his shoes and every last trace of arousal evaporating from his blood.

 

Molly Weasley’s face was redder than her hair and there were tears in her eyes. She wrung her hands as she pushed through the sudden, clamoring crowd of people.

 

Harry’s eyes sought Draco, but the other man was across the room from him.

 

It felt too far.

 

Warm, rough, damp hands grasped his and squeezed.

 

“Oh, Harry, dear, I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Sound rushed back in then, and he picked George’s voice out of the crowd, heard him say, “Christ, Mum, come down like a ton of bricks why don’t you?”

 

“What?”

 

Molly sniffled and dabbed her nose with a handkerchief. “There’s a letter. Oh, where did I put it?” She patted her dress — the fancy copper colored one she’d picked out — as if it might be in a non-existent pocket.

 

“I’ve got it,” George said, and Harry heard the crinkle of paper.

 

A letter? He glanced over her head, found Draco’s gaze again in the sea of faces. There was a glitter of surprise in those grey eyes.

 

“May I?”

 

Without waiting for a response he plucked the paper from George’s fingers and unfolded it. Harry watched as Draco read whatever was written there. Everyone else watched him watch Draco. Molly patted his hands over and over again.

 

When Draco lifted his gaze again, his irises glowed.

 

“It’s Ginny,” he said softly, before Ron burst in.

 

“She’s scarpered.”

 

Several people exclaimed. Hermione smacked his arm with her little purse.

 

“Ronald!”

 

“What?” He rubbed his shoulder. “You all were dragging it out. It was getting painful.”

 

Harry’s breath exploded from his lungs as he realized what Ron was saying. He held out his hand.

 

“Give me the letter.”

 

Everyone went silent as Molly handed it to him with shaking hands. She pressed them to her lips when he took it from her.

 

The words Ginny had written were like her, brash, to the point. Funny. She was going. It was the best thing for both of them, whether they wanted to admit it or not. They’d been wrong to give up. She wanted him to be happy.

 

_ Besides _ , she wrote,  _ I’m pretty sure there’s someone out there who loves you the way you deserve. Who knows? Maybe there is for me as well, if I haven’t messed it up with my blasted temper and stubbornness. _

 

_ Take my advice, Harry. When you have the chance, GO FOR IT. Don’t hold back out of fear.  _

 

_ But then, you’ve never been that type, have you? That was me. Thank you for being there for me when I needed you. You are a wonderful friend and whoever you end up with will be lucky to have you. If they forget that, I’ll be happy to remind them. Forcefully. (I’ve been working on my Bat Bogey!) _

 

_ You are an amazing man, Harry Potter, and I will always love you like family. _

 

_ Oh, and sorry about Mum. She’s probably going to cry on you. Just let her feed you until you’re ready to burst alright? It’ll make her feel better. I’ll owl soon. Hugs. ~G _

 

Harry smiled. He looked up to meet a crowd of wide, wary eyes.

 

“She’s called off the wedding.”

 

He thought surely they all knew, but several people still gasped. Maybe it was just hearing him say it out loud. Molly wailed and threw herself into his arms. Harry caught her and patted her back awkwardly.

 

“Molly,” he said. “It’s okay. Really. I’m not upset.”

 

Harry met each pair of eyes in turn. He saved the silver-grey for last.

 

“If she hadn’t done it, I would have myself.”

 

Harry heard Hermione’s hmph and Ron’s sigh amid the startled murmuring. Draco’s lips curled the slightest bit.

 

Luna’s voice drifted through the noise, light and musical.

 

“Do I get to keep the dress?”

 

Harry laughed, breaking the tension in the room, though Molly still sniffled.

 

“I suppose I’ll go down and tell all the guests to go home?”

 

“I’ll do it, love,” Arthur said, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t worry yourself about it.”

 

Harry refolded the letter and slid it into his pocket.

 

“No, don’t.”

 

Hermione frowned. “Harry?”

 

He smiled at her.

 

“It’s alright, ‘Mione. I’m fine, really. Better than.”

 

She bit her lip, but nodded. Ron pulled her into his arms, cradling her belly in his hands. Charlie gripped Neville’s neck, whispered something in his ear that made him grin. Harry looked at all the couples, saw the little touches. He blew out a breath.

 

“Tell them the wedding is off, but they’re welcome to stay for a party anyway.”

 

Proving that he knew Harry rather well, George leaned back against the wall with a grin and crossed his arms.

 

“What are we celebrating then, Harry?”

 

Harry’s heart dipped, fluttered. His blood pounded and his hands shook. But he felt the grin stretching his face. Felt the rightness of it in his gut. His soul.

 

“That depends,” he said, tilting his head. Across the room, Draco’s brows rose, the haughty expression pure Malfoy.

 

It was Neville, leaning into Charlie, who asked, “On what, mate?”

 

But Harry was watching Draco, of course. The one still point in his swiftly changing world.

 

“You haven’t told me the last reason.”

 

Eight pairs of eyes turned from him to Draco, who stepped away from his place by the door with his spine straight and his shoulders back.

 

He closed the distance between them in two long strides and raised his left hand, five fingers spread out wide. Then he gripped Harry’s jaw fiercely.

 

“Because I love you, you idiot. That’s why.”

 

Harry barely registered the other’s shock and surprise as Draco’s mouth covered his, hot and slick and full of promise. They both laughed as their tongues tangled. The kiss went on a second too long for polite company, and Harry’s cheeks burned as he pulled away.

 

The rest of the room was silent. Many of the faces staring at them were blank with amazement.

 

He looked to Molly and Arthur first.

 

Arthur smiled at him, placid acceptance in every line of his face. Molly’s mouth, though, trembled with tears. Harry’s stomach dropped, but she reached up and wiped away the dampness beneath her eyes. Her cheeks were still pale, but Harry could see her pulling herself together. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Molly had come through worse than her daughter running off on her wedding day and her almost-son-in-law snogging another bloke. 

 

Her ruddy brows rose as she eyed him and Draco.

 

“Well, then. Am I sending the vicar away, or will be needing him after all?”

 

Harry spluttered, but Draco just smoothed a hand over his hair and gave her a small smile.

 

“I think that’s a bit premature, Molly, but thank you.”

 

Harry could hear the extra weight Draco gave those last two words, knew the other man —  _ his man _ , he thought with a spear of glittering joy — was thanking her for more than just her comment.

 

Molly nodded. “Alright, you lot. Let’s go down then and finish getting those trays ready. Luna, did you finish the fairy cakes?”

 

The others began to file out with little waves or pats, but his two best friends didn’t budge an inch. Of course. After Molly, it was Ron’s reaction to today’s events that Harry was most worried about.

 

He needn’t have, though, because when he turned to them Hermione was blotting at tears and muttering about pregnancy hormones and Ron was watching him with a lopsided grin.

 

“No need for that look, mate. I figured out Malfoy was gone on you back when you two had to work together on the Pimflitter case.”

 

Draco — his hand curled around Harry’s bicep in a warm, proprietary hold that Harry found he didn’t mind at all — scoffed.

 

“Please. As if I was so easily readable.” But his cheeks went pink.

 

Harry gaped.

 

“He was? You did? Why didn’t I know any of this?”

 

“Harry,” Hermione said through a giggle, “You are rather clueless when it comes to romance.”

 

He could hardly argue that. Though, with a glance at Draco, he thought that might be changing now. As if sensing his thoughts, Draco touched fingers to Harry’s chin.

 

“And I think that’s our cue to head downstairs, ‘Mione,” Ron said. “I’m happy for the two of you and all, but I really don’t want to stick around and see where that look is going.”

 

Harry’s lips tingled at the heat in Draco’s eyes, but he hesitated.

 

“Ron —”

 

“Harry,” Hermione reached out to press her palm against his cheek. “You’re family no matter what. That’s not going to change. Ever.”

 

Ron nodded. “We’ll talk later. I would like to know what the bloody hell is going on with my sister.”

 

“Not now, Ron.” Hermione tugged at this hand.

 

“Right, right.” He grinned at Harry and, surprisingly, Draco as he let Hermione drag him from the room.

 

Then they were once again alone.

 

“Do you think he left the door open on purpose?” Draco’s smile was amused even as he wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck.

 

Harry nodded. “Knowing Ron.”

 

“Remind me to hex him later,” he said, bending until his mouth was a breath away from Harry’s.

 

“Draco.”

 

He tried for a note of warning, but his voice came out low and rough with growing heat. Draco chuckled.

 

“Fine. I’ll let it go.”

 

“Good, because we need to talk.”

 

Draco’s fingers stroked the back of Harry’s neck. “Talk? I had something else in mind.”

 

Harry shivered at the delicate touch. His own hands slid over Draco’s hips.

 

“About your reasons.”

 

“What about them?” Draco pressed closer until they were chest to chest.

 

“I think I need some — ah! — clarification.”

 

Draco’s mouth curled as he rubbed his thigh against Harry’s swiftly returning erection.

 

“Oh? On which point?”

 

“Well, number five was a bit of a shock,” Harry panted. His hands drifted down to Draco’s buttocks, gripped. “How long have you felt that way?”

 

Draco’s fingers worked at the buttons of Harry’s shirt.

 

“Three years. Forever. What does it matter now?”

 

His tongue swiped over Harry’s lower lip.

 

“It matters,” Harry said on a moan as Draco’s mouth skimmed along his throat. “We’ll be discussing it more later.”

 

“Later,” Draco murmured into his shoulder. “Yes. Good.”

 

Harry crowded Draco toward the bed, his hands wandering Draco’s body, undoing buttons as quickly as Draco had so recently done them up.

 

“For right now, I think number four could use a bit more illumination.”

 

Draco chuckled, the sound throaty, as he tugged Harry’s shirt free of his trousers.

 

“Oh, yes?”

 

Once again, his fine grey robes slid to the floor. Harry nodded as he tumbled them both onto the soft coverlet, sliding against each other skin to skin.

 

“It’s a really good reason.”

 

Draco’s long fingers wrapped around Harry’s cock, stroked. Harry writhed and groaned, arching into the touch. Draco kissed him, his tongue slick and insistent.

 

“I told you so,” he murmured against Harry’s lips.

 

Harry laughed, but it dissolved into a gasp as Draco’s hand tightened on him. Though breathless, he managed to reply.

 

“You seem to know me pretty well. How is that?”

 

Draco’s deep laughter was a sensual caress even as he slid his mouth over Harry’s chest.

 

“Shut up, Harry.”

 

Harry kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his pants. Draco was still half-dressed in his open trousers and boots, but Harry found he didn’t really mind. He smirked up at him.

 

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

 

Draco’s brows rose. He dipped the tip of his tongue into Harry’s navel and grinned wickedly.

 

“The door is still open.”

 

Harry flicked his fingers without looking away from Draco’s heavy-lidded, passion-flushed face.

 

The door swung closed with a reverberating thunk. Harry traced his fingers along Draco’s cheekbone, his jawline, his lips.

 

“Give me another one.”

 

Draco pushed up, pressed his mouth to Harry’s, rubbed their lips together.

 

“Is this a good enough reason?” His tongue flicked into Harry’s mouth. Harry’s hands shoved at Draco’s trousers and pants as he sucked his tongue.

 

“The best.”

 

Between them, they managed to wrestle Draco out of his clothes and boots, though it took forever between kisses and caresses and they were both breathless and panting and slick with sweat by the time he was naked. Not that Harry minded.

 

Draco’s body was long and lithe with flat planes and rounded curves of alabaster skin and toned muscle.

 

Harry let his fingers wander over all that smooth flesh, exploring dips and hollows of bone in a way he could never before admit to wanting. He stroked his fingers into the crease of Draco’s bum and circled the slippery, wrinkled opening there. Draco shuddered and pressed back against the touch with a low growl of desire. Harry worked one finger slowly inside his tight heat, then two, pumping and twisting slowly until Draco writhed against him.

 

Draco caressed him as well, with lips and tongue and hands. Drawing each drop of lust out of his skin and driving him higher and higher, until his whole body was a coiled spring of sweet, torturous tension.

 

They slid against each other, gasping, laughing with pleasure. Harry’s whole body ached and hummed and sparked with it. Draco straddled his waist, the muscles of his pale thighs tense as he rocked back and forth and side to side, gliding his bum up and down Harry’s shaft.

 

When the sensitive head of his cock rubbed against the tight ring of muscle and puckered skin, Harry threw back his head and gave a guttural groan.

 

“Draco,” he murmured against the other man’s damp lips. “Oh, gods,  _ Draco! _ ”

 

Draco lifted up on his knees and reached beneath himself to wrap a hand around the base of Harry’s shaft. Harry bucked and moaned. Draco pressed the head of Harry’s cock against his hole, but remained still.

 

Molten silver eyes burned down at Harry.

 

Balancing there, Draco bent forward until their lips met. Harry curled his fingers over Draco’s hips, holding him firm, and pressed upward.

 

Draco fed a ragged gasp into his mouth as Harry’s cock slid deep into him.

 

He was hot and tight and so, so good. Harry didn’t think he’d felt anything as perfect as that moment before in his life. Being inside Draco, feeling the satin clench of his muscles and the press of his lips and seeing the fire in his eyes when he began to move, felt like nothing Harry had ever experienced.

 

It felt like coming home.

 

The pleasure was already shuddering through him as he met Draco’s movements, thrusting up each time he rocked downward. It zinged up and down his spine like lightning, exploding inside his skull and his gut. It curled his toes and seemed to go on and on, time stretching out like taffy.

 

Draco rode him through his orgasm, face flushed and gorgeous, eyes glimmering.

 

Harry wrapped one hand around Draco’s rigid cock and tangled the other in his rumpled hair. He dragged Draco down to his mouth, nipping and licking as he stroked Draco’s throbbing length.

 

He pumped his fist once, twice, sucked at Draco’s lower lip, and then the other man was coming too, gasping into his mouth as he spurted over Harry’s belly and fingers. His entire frame shuddered against Harry before he collapsed on top of him, panting.

 

When they both lay sated, breath and heartbeat returning to normal, Harry trailed his fingers down Draco’s spine.

 

“About that fifth reason…”

 

“Mmmm?”

 

Draco kissed him lazily. Harry combed his fingers through Draco’s damp blond locks.

 

“Why didn’t you start with that one?”

 

Draco lifted one sharp eyebrow.

 

“Would you have believed me?”

 

Harry wasn’t sure he believed it now. Not that he thought Draco was lying. The truth of his feelings was evident not only in his touch, but in his gaze, now that Harry knew what he was looking at. It was merely that it was so… sudden.

 

_ No _ , the little voice of his conscience whispered, pointing out a thousand interactions with Draco over the last few years, then a thousand more.  _ It’s really not. _

 

And now it didn’t sound insidious. It sounded  **smug** .

 

He shook his head, a smile curving his lips. Perhaps it wasn’t then. Perhaps, like Hermione had said, he’d just been rather clueless when it came to romance.

 

Feeling Draco’s lips gliding along his jaw, Harry vowed to do better in the future.

 

In the hushed quiet, faint music and laughter drifted through the closed window from the back garden. He shifted against Draco, squeezing him in his arms. No time like the present, wasn’t that the saying?

 

“Hey.” Harry nuzzled his temple, brushed his lips over Draco’s, looked into drowning silver eyes. “Want to come to a wedding with me? We could dance. I’m rubbish but maybe if you lead...”

 

He felt the reverberation of Draco’s chuckle in his own chest.

 

“I’d love to.” He propped himself up on his elbows and pressed a kiss to Harry’s chin. “On one condition.”

 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What?”

 

“You’re not allowed to wear that atrocious Gryffindor red bowtie.”

 

Harry laughed, the joy swelling within him shaking his ribs. He couldn’t believe that it had been only hours earlier that he’d hurled his desperate challenge at the other man.

 

_ Give me one good reason. _

 

Draco had offered him five, but looking up into his smiling face, seeing the emotion shining in those silver irises for him, Harry knew the truth.

 

He’d only ever needed the one.


End file.
